


Lightbow

by orphan_account



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, M/M, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Young Baze, Young Chirrut, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:02:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8973352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Baze Malbus has always envied the Jedi, and committed himself to study and respect of the Force. But when he is partnered with Chirrut Îmwe as a temple guardian, he begins to see that his destiny is not one that requires him to deny himself attachment.





	1. Chapter 1

 

One side of the door stood empty.

The lack of symmetry bothered Baze, though you wouldn’t know it from his face. The nineteen-year old Guardian of the Whills was as stoic as ever. As ever you could be, when your partner had died.

The occasional Jedi passing through the door gave him a sympathetic look. Baze did not acknowledge them. Jedi… what did they know of death? Some of them welcomed it – the chance to truly become one with The Force. Grief was not something they believed in, even that for someone you have spent years marching beside, and living beside.

Theo had been like Baze – atuned to The Force, but not enough to be taken on by the Jedi for training. Instead, aged three, they both became Guardians of the Whills. They were trained to fight, to protect, and to guard the sacred kyber crystals from those who would seek to use them for any purpose other than the construction of a Jedi’s lightsaber.

Baze had envied the Jedi, even as a child. He envied their robes, their manners, their books and skills. He envied their lightsabers and their vows, and at night he would lay screwed up in a ball at the unfairness of how he wasn’t quite special enough to be one of them.

It was on those nights that Theo would dig him in the ribs, wake him up, and the two of them would climb to the roof of the temple, to sit and watch the ships in the atmosphere come and go. They would talk about their families, and how much they missed them. They would talk about their lessons, and their books, and the latest holograms being passed around. They would never talk about the Jedi. And they would never talk about the way Theo started to struggle to climb the stairs, or how he missed steps in their training routines, or how, when he turned seventeen, he was taken to the physician, and then quickly flown to Dantooine, his home planet, without so much as a goodbye with Baze.

Baze received news that his friend had died a month later, from some sort of degenerative illness. It seemed the harshest way to go, and Baze had sat in angry silence in the temple as prayers were read out, congratulating Theo on having become one with the Force, and returned to pure energy in the universe.

Two weeks later, Baze was still waiting for his replacement. A new partner would be a struggle to get used to – guard partners did not simply stand either side of a door together; they lived and worked in unison, matching their movements as they fought and practiced – they were two halves of a whole protector of the sacred crystals. Baze would need a match as close as Theo had been. Or at least, one with the potential to be.

“Malbus?”

Baze blinked, looking up at the Jedi Master in front of him. “Yes, Master Jedi?”

“We have found you a new guard partner,” the Jedi smiled, her face kinder than Baze would have expected. He rarely looked the older Jedi in the eye, and they seemed to have little time for him, a lowly door guardian. “He, too, has lost a partner, and you would, we feel, make a suitable match.”

“Thank you, Master Jedi,” Baze nodded. “Is he here on Jedha?”

“Yes. He is a few years younger than you are, but more than capable of working with you.”

“I see.” Baze glanced around the woman, as if the new guardian might be hiding behind her. “When –”

“We shall send him to you once he has completed his physical assessment,” she said. “I trust you will both take care in your duties as guardians.”

“Yes, thank you, Master,” Baze bowed his head, and the Jedi swept past him into the temple.

 

*

 

It was an hour later that a rather skinny young man walked up the steps to Baze’s door. He was carrying the staff of a guardian, and wore the black and red robes of his station, but he was also wearing a black blindfold over his eyes.

Baze stared.

The boy, oblivious, took no notice, and used his staff to feel the edge of the corridor, finding the empty place beside the door and assuming it with a tiny satisfied hum, both hands on his staff.

Baze stared some more, then cleared his throat. “You… you can take that off, you know?”

“Ah, so you can speak,” the boy grinned. “I did wonder.”

“Yeah… you’ve found your spot. Did they make you wear that as a test? You can take it off, now.”

“It’s not a test,” the boy continued to grin. “It is for the comfort of others.”

“Comfort?”

“Yes. So others will not look into my eyes and feel afraid when they walk into the temple.”

Baze frowned, and looked across at the boy again. Aside from the scarf over his eyes, he looked perfectly ordinary. “I don’t understand.”

The boy sighed, and reached for the blindfold. He turned his face towards Baze, and yanked up the material over his eyes.

Baze’s mouth dropped open a little.

Two blue-white irises stared back at him, the pupils non-existent, the whites of the eyes milky and cloudy. The effect was like summer ice in snow. The boy pulled the scarf back down, and settled it neatly.

“So, now you see,” he smiled.

There was a pause as a Jedi strode past, three tiny padawan trotting behind him.

“No, I… I don’t get it,” Baze said once the coast was clear. “Do they make you wear that?”

“No one can make another individual do anything,” the boy shrugged. “We only do what our own minds tell us. Of course, there may be outside pressures that make one choice seem preferable to another-”

“And your mind tells you that you need to cover your face?”

“I cover my eyes because it is painful to know others recoil from them.” The boy adjusted his staff. “It is not my blindness they fear, it is the appearance of the eye itself. Which is somewhat ironic, as I have no idea what they look like to be so frightening.”

Baze shook his head, annoyance brewing in his chest. “That’s wrong. People shouldn’t be afraid of your eyes. There’s nothing wrong with how they look.”

The boy turned his head as if he could see. “You think so?”

“I do.” Baze stood crossly, his normally placid face in a pouting frown.

They stood in silence for a while, then. Jedi, and temple keepers, passed them. Sometimes there was a nod. Sometimes a quick look in the new boy’s direction. Baze stood and fumed quietly. All the teachings of the Force, of his church, were that appearances – that the body itself was merely transport for the living Force. If this boy’s blindness did not prevent him from training to be a Guardian of the Whills, why should anyone fear to see his face? They should look on him with pride.

This boy was standing, happy enough in his station, yet made a fool of with his blindfold – as if he was being punished for something. And the more Baze thought about it, the more he wanted to do something about it.

The night-bell rang, indicating there was half an hour until the changing of the guards.

Baze huffed out a sigh, and leaned his kyber-topped staff against the wall. He strode over to the boy, who didn’t flinch as Baze unwound the blindfold and pulled it away from his face.

“They should be proud of you,” Baze said. “Not afraid. Let them learn.”

The boy blinked, then smiled so widely Baze wondered if his face would crack. “Alright.”

“I’m Baze Malbus,” he held a hand out, then panicked at his gesture.

The boy took his hand and shook it as easily as if he could see it. “Chirrut Îmwe.”

“Nice to meet you, Chirrut.”

“And you,” the boy’s smile softened. He took his blindfold from Baze’s hand, and carefully wound it around the older boy’s neck like a loose stole. “Keep the scarf. I imagine it suits you.”

Baze couldn’t help grinning back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chirrut moves in, and Baze owns up about his bitterness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments on this fic! It's so lovely to have you all here. xxx

It was two days later that Chirrut moved into the bedroom.

Like other guardians, Baze lived without possessions, as much as possible. His clothes hung in a simple wardrobe, and he had three books on the shelf above his bed, but nothing else.

So, he was rather taken aback when Chirrut arrived at the door, dragging a box on wheels behind him, filed with objects.

“Moving in properly, then?” Baze stepped out of his way and closed the door behind him.

“Of course,” Chirrut parked his box against the door, and shifted his staff in his grip. He lifted his head as if he could see, and paused for a moment. “Good,” he said. “I prefer the left-hand side of the room.” And he walked over to his bed, and ran a hand over the sheets.

Baze watched him, staying still as the smaller boy touched over the pillow, the bed-head, the bedside table with its simple lamp.

“Do you miss him?” Chirrut asked suddenly.

“Miss… who?” Baze choked out.

“The boy who was here before.”

“Oh…” Baze looked at Chirrut’s box of possessions. “Attachment is not something I’d readily admit to.”

“Friendship is not always voluntary,” Chirrut reached to the bare shelf and stretched his fingers over it, feeling the width of it to the wall. “You enjoyed having him as your guard-partner, after all.”

Baze didn’t bother asking how he knew. “Yes… He was good at his job.”

Chirrut’s hand went still for a second as he acknowledged the use of the past tense. He then held his staff again, and quickly mapped out the space between the beds, tapping the staff between the objects, walking back to the door and reaching for the wardrobe and sink. He then leant his staff against the wall beside Baze’s, and lifted his box, carrying it over to his bed and taking out his things.

First came a small pile of clothes. Then a collapsible, slender stick – a tool to help him ‘see’ his way around, Baze realised. There followed a small hologram projector, a toy droid, an electronic reader, a kyber crystal ornament…

“You’ve brought a lot,” Baze couldn’t help saying.

Chirrut smiled. “I am afraid I would make a poor Jedi. I value some objects too much to take a vow of poverty.”

“What does the hologram show?” Baze peered over, curious.

Chirrut handed it over. “Take a look.”

Baze clicked it on. It fuzzed into life, showing a family of five, trying to pose for a recording, but failing as the smallest started grizzling, and everyone else started laughing. The recording was silent, but Baze recognised the second-smallest child, staring blankly into the lens. “Is this your family?”

“Yes,” Chirrut smiled again. “It was taken the day I left for training. My parents moved to Corellia not long after that. My father works as a courier, and there was more money there for him.”

“They made a hologram for you?” Baze handed it back, and Chirrut put it on his bedside table. “Could you… see it?”

“No, I’ve never seen it,” Chirrut put his ornaments on the shelf. “I was blinded shortly after I was born. There was a solar flare as we were travelling to visit family. No one thought to cover my eyes. My mother always blamed herself, but I told her that implies that there was something bad done. Not being able to see has not altered my life enough to be sorrowful about.”

Baze sat back on his own bed. “Did you want to be a Guardian of the Whills?”

“My father hoped I would have enough connection with the Force to be a Jedi,” Chirrut shrugged. “He was disappointed when I did not pass all their tests. But I wasn’t. I had a calling to be a guardian, and that was enough. I wanted to be like the adults I had heard of, walking the streets with their crystal-topped sticks…” his smile fell. “Of course, there were some teachers who refused to take me seriously. I have taken great pleasure in proving them wrong.” He wheeled his box back to the door. “Did your family hope you would be a Jedi?”

“My father didn’t,” Baze admitted. “He was always a bit afraid of those in touch with the Force. But… I wanted to be one. A Jedi.”

“You still do,” Chirrut turned to face him. “Don’t you?”

Baze felt his face heat up. “I…”

“I’m not about to tell on you,” Chirrut laughed, taking his seat on the bed opposite. “But you do, don’t you?”

Baze laced his fingers together before answering. “I failed their tests. Barely. It was foresight that I failed on. They said it was the most important gift. And I couldn’t do it. I could – I _can_ do everything else. I can fight, I can lead, I can be selfless –”

“Hence the cell-like room,” Chirrut sighed.

“ – yes, and I feel the Force. I listen to it, I let it guide me, and I would only ever use it for the good of others…” he trailed off, and shook his head. “I said as much to them every year. And every year they refused to listen, told me I was too old, that I had a duty already… Until, one day, I stopped fighting them. I started teaching myself, instead. What I could. Theo…” he stopped.

“The boy who used to live here?”

“Yes. Theo… he used to tell me I was wasting my time. That they would have trained me if I could manage it. He’d watch me read through the Jedi books, and then ask me to lift a feather with the Force. I never could. I never will,” he looked up, and saw Chirrut was listening intently. “But I haven’t missed a shot with a blaster since I was thirteen.”

Chirrut flashed a grin. “The Jedi says the Force has a plan for us, and perhaps they are right. Or, perhaps we all have different talents.”

“Perhaps. What’s yours?”

Chirrut’s grin widened. “Wait and see next time we have a hand-to-hand class. There is a reason I have been allowed to train two years above my grade.”

Baze blinked, trying to image the blind boy in front of him fighting hand-to-hand. Certainly Chirrut could find his way around the room well enough, and he could find the shelf, and he knew which side of the room was occupied… Perhaps the Force guided him better than sight ever could. Baze looked into Chirrut’s blind eyes. “I can’t wait,” he said.


End file.
